Monday, July 20, 2015

The wigged-out world of The Mystrys: part 1


Holy masked marauders, Batman! Some of you may have read my post last year about The Mystrys, Australia’s most mysterious one-hit wonders; their 1966 supernatural scorcher, 'Witch Girl' and the dodgy manager whose fraudulent ways caused their premature demise. Since then, I’ve met the band’s singing bassplayer Charles Bayliss and their songwriter/PR dynamo Bob ‘King’ Crawford, spoken to their lead guitarist Ziggy Zapata, and learnt loads more about the band’s fascinating story. Seriously, you couldn't dream this stuff up.



To coincide with my article about the group in the latest issue of Shindig! magazine, this is the first of two posts delving deeper into the wigged-out world of The Mystrys. Be warned: it's long, but hell -- what a rollicking ride it is!

For a quick recap, check out the original post
I’ll try not to repeat too much here (or replicate the Shindig! piece, for that matter) 


THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Before The Mystrys were even a twinkle in manager Michael Kopp’s eye, Charles, Ziggy and Bob were already involved in Melbourne’s music scene. 

Young Charlie Bayliss played bass in Isy and the Dynamics, the first rock’n’roll band in Australia with a female drummer. 

Charles: "There was another group in England who had a girl on drums [The Honeycombs], and as far as I know we were the only two bands in the world at the time with girl drummers. Her name was Isabelle so we called the group Isy and the Dynamics. The only problem was that she had to fix her make-up and wipe off the sweat and all that sort of thing between songs! But Isy was a good drummer."
Isy and the Dynamics: Charles Bayliss is on the right (photo courtesy Ziggy Zapata)
Always on the look-out for musical opportunities, Charles saw an ad in the paper seeking musos for a “gimmicky group”, and rang up about it. He explained he was a working musician, and told them where they could come and see him play. 

Charles: "At the time, we had a regular gig in the basement of a place at the top of Little Lonsdale Street. They came down to see us – the backer [Buff Parry], the manager [Michael Kopp] and his offsider [Gerry Valek] – and they approached me afterwards and said, We love the band, can you come and see us at the Southern Cross Hotel and we’ll tell you all about it. So I went – I hadn’t told all the others what was going on yet – and sat down with them, and they outlined … what they were looking for."

What they were looking for was a killer Aussie combo that’d give pasty Poms like The Beatles and Stones a run for their money. But when Charles told his bandmates about it, none of them were interested. (And this was before green velvet hoods came up in conversation!) Determined to make a go of it, he set about recruiting other members from around the local scene, encouraged by Kopp, Valek and the team’s songwriter Bob ‘King’ Crawford. 


LONG LIVE THE KING

Several years older than Charles and Ziggy, Bob 'King' Crawford was already a local legend through his work as a jazz crooner, comedian, concert promoter, composer and head of Planet Records, a ground-breaking record label which did more for Australian music in the 1950s and early 60s than this post could even hint at. (But here’s a hint all the same: not only did Planet Records release the first ever all-Australian rock’n’roll album, Rock’n’Roll Party in 1958, it was the first label in the world to use full-colour album covers. And just for good measure, how’s this for a stat: Bob ‘King’ Crawford was the most recorded Australian composer of the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s and 1980s! Clearly writer’s block was never an issue…)

Three Planet releases: Bob King Crawford is the bloke holding the pint glass above!
Kopp had brought Crawford on board to write songs for his enigmatic new supergroup. Although only the 'Witch Girl' single was ever recorded, Crawford wrote almost 30 numbers in total – all suitably weird and wonderful in theme. The list below was provided by the writer himself, and casts some light on the gems now lost to history…
Mystrys song list, courtesy Bob King Crawford
'The Divisible, Miserable, Invisible Man' – love it! 'The Devil Bitin’ in My Soul' – oh, to hear the lyrics to that! 'March of the Zombies' – the mind boggles! 

To be honest, it’s a mystery (no pun intended) to me why Kopp chose a sci-fi vibe for a band he’d devised to cash in on the success of the British invasion. I mean, there was nothing spacey about The Beatles, Stones et al in those days: songs like '2000 Light Years from Home' and 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' were still a year off. 


AND THEN THERE WERE FOUR

The first member Charles recruited was teenage guitar sensation Ziggy Zapata, from a group called The Untouchables. Just 19 at the time, Ziggy had only been playing guitar for two years but had learnt classical piano from the age of five. “I fell in love with Ziggy right away – he was a really nice guy,” Charles says. “Then the other guitarist, Kevin Thomas, came over and we clicked straight away. Very quiet guy, very timid, but loved his guitar playing, which was important.”

Ziggy, Charles and Bob all agree that The Mystrys’ first drummer was sensational. Says Charles, “I’d known this drummer for a few years: I hadn’t worked much with him, however, every time I played with him I was very impressed. His name was Malcolm McPhee; he was a genius out of his own time. He used to sit and practise for six hours at a time; he’d work on his drums alongside Gene Krupa albums. He was a really mad drummer.” 

Bob adds, “He was amazing. Like nobody since or before. And I worked with Gene Krupa.” (Indeed he did: managing press and publicity for the famous American drummer’s 1954 Aussie tour. To welcome Krupa to Melbourne, Bob rustled up a bunch of students from Billy Hyde’s drumming school and lined them up on the airport tarmac with their kits, pounding out a greeting as he stepped off the plane. This talent for publicity stunts was not wasted on The Mystrys, as we shall see…)

(NB: It’s worth noting that Ziggy’s account of how the band’s line-up was finalised differs slightly from that of Charles, and can be found on his website here).


THE INCORRIGIBLE MR KOPP

Bob King Crawford also met Michael Kopp via a newspaper ad. 
Planet Records had been defunct for a few years by this point, and he was working at Births, Deaths & Marriages, where “the money was so bad, I was going backwards.” 

“Then I saw this ad in the paper: Composer wanted. I’d never seen an ad like that! So I turned up at the place, a very posh office in the Southern Cross Hotel, with a secretary and the whole thing, and thought This is alright. They wanted songs written and they wanted them written fast." 

Having once composed 24 marches in one night, Bob was a shoo-in for the job. 

"They said, We’re going to put a group together and we’ll do recordings, we’ll have them rehearse, we’ll dress them, and we’ll pay them 20 dollars a week. Which it turned out they didn’t. There was Michael Kopp and this other giant person.” (The “giant person” was Gerry Valek. “He was a really big fella, carrying a lot of weight,” adds Charles of Kopp’s right-hand man.)
The band larking about with Bob King Crawford (top), Michael Kopp (carefully keeping his face obscured, middle) and Buff Parry (right) Photo courtesy Ziggy Zapata
When asked whether Kopp came across as legitimate at that fateful meeting, Bob recalls that “He knew what he was doing. He was a good conman.”

“He was convincing,” agrees Charles. Ziggy, too, was fooled. “He set up an office and hired a cute blonde babe to field calls for him. It was all façade, but we naïve musicians didn’t know that at the time.”

The suspicions didn’t come til later. Bob recalls one instance when Kopp rang him and invited him over to his place. On arriving at Kopp’s apartment, Bob noticed there were lots of cameras around the place but didn’t think too much of it. Kopp said he had a present for him, something special for Bob to do whatever he wanted with for the day… A door opened…. and out came two naked girls – a blonde and a brunette. Some present!

Being a married man, Bob declined the offer. It only occurred to him later that the whole scenario was a set-up. Those cameras weren’t there by accident – Kopp was hoping to get something over him. How very clichéd.


MASKED AND MOST MYSTERIOUS

As part of his master plan, and before he’d even enlisted the band’s members, Kopp decided that The Mystrys’ identities would remain a secret. To ensure their anonymity, he had brainwave of making them wear tight-fitting, green velvet hoods. 

Charles recalls being told, “We want to promote you, but you’ll all have to sign declarations that you won’t divulge who you are because it must remain a secret.” Charles loved the idea, and even Ziggy, whose dislike of the masks is well documented on his website, was momentarily intrigued. “The name was OK — it was different and catchy, especially since we wore bags over our heads and that was the mystery of it all.”

As time wore on, the guys came to realise the hoods had their downsides. For one thing, they were extremely hot and uncomfortable. “You could hardly bloody move in the masks! It was horrendous, it really was,” chuckles Charles. “You basically only had eyes and a mouth. And of course, you’d look down at your instrument and you couldn’t see it properly.” 

What’s more, the hoods prevented them from forming any kind of relationship with their teenybopper fans, ruining “any chance of rock fans being attracted by the looks of the band members, which was the most important factor for anybody wishing to achieve pop stardom,” as Ziggy writes on his website. 
'Handsome lot aren't they?' - photo (and caption) provided by Bob King Crawford
Preceding masked acts like Los Straitjackets, The Mummies and TISM by decades, The Mystrys (and Michael Kopp) were well ahead of their time, distinguishing themselves from the pack in this way. But of course, the gimmick would’ve bombed if there hadn’t been genuine musical talent to support it.


THE SINGLE

In the beginning, things went well for The Mystrys. Caught up in the excitement and fun of being part of such an unusual project, they rehearsed solidly (and in secret) at a studio in Acland Street, St Kilda, working up their set and preparing for recording. The manic and mind-bending 'Witch Girl' was an obvious choice for the single; with the slower, more reflective 'Land of the Green Sun' slated for the B-side. 

“We recorded these two numbers at Armstrong’s with Roger Savage,” Charles recalls. Where else? Everyone from The Easybeats to MPD Ltd recorded at Armstrong’s during the 1960s: the cutting-edge South Melbourne studio was one of the country’s best. As was Roger Savage, the sound engineer. A recent arrival from England, Savage had worked with The Rolling Stones at Olympic Studios and was “a fantastic technician,” according to Charles — just the man to capture The Mystrys’ unique sound. (Savage later went on to forge an illustrious film career, doing sound for movies like Mad Max, Babe and Shine, and being nominated for an Oscar for his work on Moulin Rouge)

“The sound just wasn’t available in those days, nobody was doing it. And Roger Savage…he had an eight-track recorder – the first eight-track that came into Australia.  Or was it a 16-tracker? It was the first one that came into Australia, and we were about the first ones to record on it.”

Ziggy elaborates: “We just recorded both tracks, first the instruments, then the voice tracks, more or less like it is done these days. The strange sounds on ‘Witch Girl’ were concocted by Roger Savage and added to the track.”




Having detailed the single’s finer points in my original Mystrys post, as well as in the Shindig! article, I won’t describe it here. Suffice it to say, there was nothing on the Australian charts at the time that sounded even remotely like it. (In fact, the song I think 'Witch Girl' most resembles — or, more to the point, which most resembles 'Witch Girl' — came two years later: “Journey to the Center of the Mind” by The Amboy Dukes.)

Bob had big plans for the band’s recording career. “My idea was that we’d do what the Beatles did: we’d do an EP of four songs. Not the songs that were recorded — these were better and more commercial. We’d get the money from that and do two more straight afterwards … have all the stuff ready to go. Of course, the next thing I find was that Michael Kopp had chosen two other songs.” 

Although The Mystrys hadn’t yet played live and were an unknown quantity on the Melbourne scene, their single climbed the charts, first as a promo copy on Kopp’s own flash-in-the-pan label Orbit, then on the Festival-owned subsidiary Leedon. (Curiously, radio stations wouldn’t play its flipside, “because they said it was a protest song and the Vietnam War was on,” explains Charles. With its idealistic lyrics about food for nations to share, freedom being more than a word, and war not existing, it’s easy to see how broadcasters arrived at this conclusion. A shame, really, as this otherworldly number is quite a technicolour trip.)

Meanwhile, the hype surrounding the band was building, helped along by appearances on teen music programs such as The Go!! Show and Kommotion, some hilarious media write-ups, and even a promotional music video dreamed up by Michael Kopp. 


THE LOST FILM CLIP

“That film he made of The Mystrys was brilliant,” remembers Bob. Charles agrees. “It was just so innovative. Nobody was making videos in conjunction with their numbers in those days.”

Frustratingly, a copy of the 'Witch Girl' video cannot be found. It's not on Youtube, and a search of the National Film and Sound Archive meets with a dead end. (One article from the time mentions it was sold to the BBC and CBS in Canada, although whether that’s truth or spin is anyone’s guess.)

If Charles’s description is anything to go by, the clip was fab!

“So we had this girl in a sports car behind a screen, and they had lights behind her, throwing an image onto the movie screen, and the cameras were actually shooting from the other side. And we were there playing 'Witch Girl'. She had a scarf around her neck, and a fan in the front was blowing the scarf, [making it look like] the scarf was wavering in the wind, you see. Then they went up on the ICI Building, and they dropped the scarf, and filmed it just floating away. And that was the end of the video."

Of course, being almost 50 years ago, some details are a bit foggy. “I can’t remember where we filmed it — I’m sure it wasn’t at Acland St.”

Ziggy’s memories are vaguer still. “I don’t even remember doing a video of 'Witch Girl'. I’d even forgotten about the Mystrys until I was reminded of the band 40 years later!”


BAND PROMOTION, KING CRAWFORD-STYLE

Michael Kopp may have come up with the masks, but besides this, he and Gerry “really had no idea what they wanted to do. It turned out I had to come up with the ideas,” Bob says. 

Taking the extraterrestrial concept and running with it, Bob spun a weird and wacky web of intrigue around the band, captivating and irritating journalists in equal measure. “It was just amazing. I mean, the media – anything I told them, they printed it. It was crazy!” he laughs.
Among his more creative stories are the following:
  • The Mystrys performed two inches off the ground, and didn’t have any shadows
  • The members were aliens from a planet outside the reach of Earth’s telescopes, whose journey to Earth took several years in a faster-than-the-speed-of-light spaceship (check out the previous post for details of their intergalactic pseudonyms)
  • The members were aged anywhere between 643 and 850 years old
  • They played 35 instruments between them
  • Due to contractual obligations, they ate, slept, showered and played with their hoods on, and didn’t even know what each other looked like
  • There was a fifth, invisible member, Finstar.

Another Crawford-generated rumour that fuelled much speculation was the one about The Mystrys being The Beatles on holiday in Australia! 
Scrapbook clipping courtesy Ziggy Zapata
This excerpt from an interview with Bob and the band in TV Times (8 June 1966) gives an inkling of the snarkier journalistic reactions they provoked:
Mr King-Crawford broke in. “It may interest you to know,” he said, “that the boys have five bodyguards – to protect them from any fans who might want to tear off their face-pieces and discover their true identities.”“Aren’t the boys afraid,” I asked him, “that no-one will really CARE what their true identity is? What a let-down it would be for a mob of screaming teenage girls to rip off those masks and find five complete unknowns underneath.”
And then there were the publicity stunts. Pointing out a photo (below) in one of Bob’s scrapbooks, Charles comments: “See this one here? We’re in a pool at a motel named The California in Armadale. We turned up, obviously all dressed in masks and everything else –”

“— I wanted to get a shot of the heads all just above the water –” explains Bob.

“But somebody saw us walking in and they thought it was a hold-up. So they called the police.” says Charles. “Two divvie vans and a station wagon turned up with all these police in them.” 

Bob: “And they weren’t joking; they weren’t at all amused about it. I kept saying ‘they can’t take the masks off, their identities are a deadly secret!’”

“That was funny,” laughs Charles. “It was just a little bit short of World War II,” Bob observes wryly.
In the pool at the California: I think I'd be mildly disturbed to come across this scene too! Courtesy Ziggy Zapata
Another time they were walking through the Southern Cross Hotel with their guitars, only for a guest to call the cops, convinced some kind of criminal act was unfolding. After all, felons always wander around in green velvet hoods while carrying musical instruments, right?
Salad, sir? The Mystrys having lunch at the Southern Cross, Courtesy Ziggy Zapata

LIVE AT LAST

By the time the band made their live debut at one of Brian de Courcy’s popular suburban ‘Mentone Mod’ dances, Mystrys mania was at fever pitch. “It took off,” Charles recalls. “Everyone wanted to know who we were, girls were trying to take the masks off … going crazy trying to find out who we were. It was really an exciting time.”

Ziggy remembers another gig at Malvern Town Hall, where the group hid in a caravan organised by Michael Kopp to protect their anonymity while “groupies banged on the door” outside. “Michael wouldn’t let them near,” he says.  
Scrapbook clipping courtesy Ziggy Zapata
“The whole concept worked so well, and they were choreographed,” Bob adds. 
That's right: not only did they wear masks and matching tailored suits, tell hilarious porkies about their identity and play pounding paranormal pop, but The Mystrys had choreographed stage moves into the bargain! It’s almost too much fabulosity for this brain to process!

Curiously, before the band could consolidate on their popularity in Melbourne, Michael Kopp sent them on a tour of regional Victoria and South Australia. 

“We weren’t around long enough to say ‘OK we’re going to play regular gigs in Melbourne,’” Charles reflects. “And I’ve gotta be honest: the so-called management didn’t want to expose us too much. We were on The Go!! Show so we had that kind of exposure; we were interviewed; we played at a couple of places here but then we went on tour. And the tour lasted about four months. We were away for a long time.”

In part 2: on tour with The Mystrys; the truth comes out; what happened next…
Photo courtesy Ziggy Zapata


Sunday, June 28, 2015

Groovy guru: the photography of Henry Talbot


When you think about some of Australia’s biggest (and best) bands of the 60s --The Easybeats, Masters Apprentices, Purple Hearts et al – it’s impossible not to be struck by what a great contribution European and British migrants have made to this country’s rock’n’roll tradition.

The same can be said of our photography, with European-born luminaries like Bruno Benini, Wolfgang Sievers, Mark Strizic and Helmut Newton all having a profound impact on the national photographic scene during the 50s and 60s.


Henry Talbot
Henry Talbot (formerly known as Heinz Tichauer) was another one. Fleeing his natal Germany in 1939 to escape the Nazis, he ended up in England — interned as a suspected German agent! Along with thousands of other German and Italian detainees (some of whom were prisoners of war; many more of whom were Jewish refugees like Talbot), he was deported to Australia in 1940 aboard the notorious hell-ship, Dunera.

After spending a couple of years interned in Hay, NSW, Talbot volunteered for the Australian Army, where he became friends with fellow German refugee Helmut Newton. 

Both Talbot and Newton ended up in Melbourne, having established independent post-war careers as photographers. They went into partnership in 1956, specialising in fashion and advertising: needless to say, the Newton & Talbot Studio became one of Melbourne’s most successful. 


Work it, baby!

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
Groovy OR WHAT?! Sure, Melbourne was hip in the 1960s (or this blog wouldn’t exist) but this photo, part of an ad for New York fashion label Brooks Brothers, takes it to a whole new level. That sports car looks like it’s been snatched from the set of some trippy late-60s Italian spy flick, while the slinky chick in the background could be Emma Peel’s — or Modesty Blaise’s — stunt double. The guy’s pretty sharp too.

Brooks Brothers were eager to cash in on the burgeoning Aussie youth market — and Henry Talbot was just the man to help them, with his unerring eye for the aesthetics and vibe of the times. The fabtastic stunner below is part of the same series. David Bailey, eat yer heart out!
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
In 1959, the Newton and Talbot studio scored a lucrative contract with the Australian Wool Board, and moved their studio into the basement of the Board’s office in Bourke Street. Concerned about the rising popularity of synthetic fabrics, the AWB was relying on Talbot and Newton to give it the cred it needed to remain competitive in a market that was becoming ever more youth-focused. 

This gorgeous promo photo, taken by Talbot for them in 1964, certainly delivers the goods.
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
When Newton departed for London on a self-declared mission to become the world’s greatest photographer some time around 1960, Talbot carried on alone, racking up an impressive folio of work for a who’s who of big-name clients such as Vogue, Vanity Fair, Sportscraft, General Motors and Holeproof Hosiery (below). 
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1962 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
Dating from 1962, this glamorous tableau was shot on location at the long-since closed Walnut Tree restaurant in William Street, Melbourne. It’s especially noteworthy for the male model standing in the background – none other than Bruno Benini before he became a fashion photographer himself! (Anyone else think the dark-haired bloke at the front looks like Don Draper’s cosmic twin?)
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1965 (image found on http://www.joseflebovicgallery.com/)
A vintage print of this candid and evocative photo appears to be for sale on the Josef Lebovic Gallery website, with the following accreditation:
Helmut Newton...and Henry Talbot. [Behind the Scenes at a Fashion Parade], c1965…Studio stamp reads "Helmut Newton & Henry Talbot Pty Ltd. Latrobe Court, 165 Latrobe St. [Melbourne]. [Ph] 662 2199, 662 2208. No. 506/35 Pos. 186." 
I’m guessing it’s a Talbot: by 1965, Newton was long gone, pursuing world domination on the other side of the world.

Here’s one final jaw-dropping example of Talbot’s work, taken for Fibremakers Australia. I mean, wowsers! Not only does this photo of Jackie Holme (Billy Thorpe's ex) grooving against the Parkes telescope tap into the decade’s obsession with all things space-age, it also captures its sense of freedom, fun and female fabulosity. They don’t make fashion photography like this any more…
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964/5; National Gallery of Australia; NGA 89.1436
Given his eye-catching style, it’s no surprise to learn that Henry Talbot won a raft of prestigious awards during the 50s and 60s, the Australian Photo News’s Fashion Photographer of the Year (1958) and a Distinctive Merit Award from the Art Directors Club of Melbourne (1968) among them. 

He went on to Head of the Photography Department at the School of Art and Design at Preston, (later the Phillip Institute of Technology), from 1973 to 1985, after which he moved to Sydney with his family. He died of cancer in 1999, aged 79.

UPDATE
There is currently an exhibition dedicated to Henry Talbot's photography at the Ian Potter Centre in Federation Square, which is well worth a visit. You can see the special e-book the gallery has prepared to mark the occasion here.

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Saturday, June 13, 2015

Everyday Melbourne in the 1960s


Big news in Batmania! I have an article about The Mystrys — a sensational but short-lived band previously profiled in this blog — in the forthcoming issue of legendary British magazine, Shindig! I’ll be ppublishing a couple more blog posts about the group to mark the occasion, based on interviews I did with a couple of the key players, but while they’re taking shape, I wanted to share this interesting photo-essay about ‘everyday life in Melbourne in the Swinging Sixties’ that I found on The Herald Sun website.

Naturally, the usual suspects are present — The Beatles, The Stones, Normie Rowe, Jean Shrimpton at the Melbourne Cup. But there’s also Graham Kennedy, a haunting shot of Ronald Ryan and two photos of the footballer that even folks who couldn’t give two flying whatevers about AFL can’t help liking... Ron Barassi. 
Don't knock the Ron: Barassi, Hawaiian style. Photo: Herald Sun
Whether he’s helping women in distress, pulling folks from flaming cars, bowling in Melbourne’s first ten-pin bowling alley, posing with Hawaiian beauties or (so I hear) kicking a footy, Ron Barassi is The Man.


New Australians

A couple of pics of European migrants arriving in Melbourne provide a stark contrast to the current immigration situation. As the exuberant scene below illustrates, approaching Aussie shores by boat 50 years ago was a joyous rather than fraught experience. And not a border control official in sight..
Migrants on the Flavia arriving at Station Pier in 1964. Photo: Herald Sun

Hitting the streets

Unsurprisingly, the street scenes included in the photo essay are wonderful, not least for the drool-worthy cars upping the aesthetic ante. Bourke, Flinders and Spencer Streets all look distinctly more glamorous than they do these days, but this one of Sydney Road is pick of the bunch. Did someone say Holden heaven?
Sydney Road (1964)  looking somewhat less chaotic than it does today. Photo: Herald Sun
Meanwhile, a selection of suburban shots evoke a palpable sense of nostalgia for simpler times. Check out this back-street billy cart race: can you imagine that happening in this era of helicopter parents and PlayStation? 


Full tilt! Billy cart kids in action, 1962. Photo: Herald Sun

Hello, ladies!

But pièce de resistance is this stylin’ line-up of likely lads taken from a spread in the newspaper’s fashion pages in 1967 (is that John Steed on the left?). While I’ve featured plenty of women’s fashion in this blog, local male fashion snaps from the decade are a rare treat. 
Five alive: men's fashion in Melbourne, 1967. Photo: Herald Sun
Factor in several photos of children, the Royal Show and the Queen, and one can't help thinking that the 1960s portrayed by The Herald Sun isn't so much swinging as downright sweet... 

All these pics and more can be seen here: Photo essay: Take a look back at everyday life in Melbourne in the Swinging Sixties

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Go!! at the St Kilda Film Festival

It’s rare that contemporary events rate a mention in this blog, but I feel it’s my civic duty to alert Melbourne-based readers to the upcoming Go!! Show screening at the St Kilda Film Festival. This will be the third year in a row the festival has featured a special screening devoted to Australian music of the 1960s, presented in partnership with the National Film & Sound Archive Australia. 

If the previous two years are anything to go by, we’re in for another corker.

In 2013, we were treated to the obscure Easybeats doco, Easy Come, Easy Go, along with that indescribably wonderful testimonial to swinging Melbourne, Approximately Panther (so wonderful I dedicated a post to it here), plus a few other musical gems from the era such as the video for The Loved Ones’ “Sad Dark Eyes” and an obscure piece of Molly Meldrumalia, Meldrum 1971.
The Fab Five in Easy Come, Easy Go
Last year, the Festival took us Back to the Sixties, with a fascinating documentary called The Snap and Crackle of Pop, revealing the machinations of a nascent Aussie pop-music industry, and the adorably corny Once Upon a Twilight, in which The Twilights do their best Monkees impression.
Snap, crackle and pop in Sydney
This year, we get Go!! Put it in your diaries now, groovers (and book your tickets): 7.30pm, Monday 25 May, at the St Kilda Town Hall.

I spoke to Television Curator/Archivist from the National Film & Sound Archive, Simon Smith, about this insanely rare opportunity to view an entire episode of possibly the most important teen TV show of its era. 

Why is footage from The Go!! Show so hard to come by?
Simon: 
Two hundred and twenty-two episodes were produced and only portions of seven survive. And this is the only complete one, episode 117 [part of the Johnny Young era]. The show used to be produced on two-inch video tape, which was very expensive, very heavy and very large. So rather than have mountains of videotape around, the TV station would reuse the tapes. Episodes were kept for three weeks before being taped over. 

The only reason anything survived was that Go!! was sold to other TV networks around the country. It was on the 0-10 network, and screened in Brisbane, Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne — but it’d also be screened in regional Australia, in places like Albury and Mildura, and some of these places wouldn’t have videotape facilities. 

In those cases, they’d have to send it as a kine (short for kinescope), a 16mm print – they’d project the two-inch videotape onto a very high quality screen and they’d record it onto film. That 16mm print would then get sent off. Thing is, you can tape over videotape but you can’t tape over film. That's  how much 60s TV survives - not on the original videotapes but on these lesser quality film telerecordings.
Here's Johnny! Johnny Young, one of the Go!! Show's three hosts
What’s so great about Go!! compared to, say, a show like Kommotion? 
Simon: 
In my opinion, Go!! was a far more important show than Kommotion
Kommotion was a miming show. They did have artists on, but you’d usually get things like Molly Meldrum miming to “Winchester Cathedral” or “Why Don’t Women Like Me?” and Denise Drysdale doing various songs… They’d have the occasional pop act on there – I think they’d do one song per episode. It was more a matter of the mimers with a guest artist, as opposed to the Go!! Show, which was just artist after artist after artist. 
This autographed photo of the Kommotion cast is currently available on eBay for $7,000!!!
Did the Kommotion episodes suffer the same fate as The Go!! Show eps? 
Simon:
Kommotion was a disaster in terms of survival. 
All that survives of Kommotion – and we’ll screen it on the night – is a 45-second home movie. Hundreds of episodes were made of Kommotion – it was a five-day a week, half-hour show, with a weekend edition as well in its hey day. There’s one three-minute clip which we don’t have — a private individual has it; it’s one of the show’s mimers, David Bland. He does a Roger Miller song, then it flashes back to Ken Sparkes, who hosted the show. The only reason it survives is that it was given to a motorcycle club, because one of their motorbikes appears in the clip and they asked for a copy.

It’s become a bit of a tradition for the St Kilda Film Festival to feature a special Aussie 60s music screening as part of the program. How did the partnership with NFSA come about? 
Simon:
We’d done this restoration on the Easybeats documentary working with producer Peter Clifton -- he was involved with Led Zepellin’s The Song Remains the SameWe’d already screened it at the Sydney Film Festival, and when we mentioned it to the Director of the SKFF (Paul Harris), he was interested in screening it in Melbourne because it only had one screening in Sydney, as a support feature to Searching for Sugarman

Last year, Paul Harris asked if we had any suggestions for any other 60s stuff, and I told him about this fantastic episode of a current affairs program from ATN7 in Sydney called Seven Days, where they devoted an entire episode to pop – a documentary on the 60s music scene in Sydney. I also managed to push through an HD telecine of Once Upon a Twilight. If we’d screened the old video master as it was, it would’ve been 30%-40% worse. But it looked good.

Did it ever! No doubt The Go!! Show will look pretty snazzy too, when it’s projected on the big screen next Monday…

Simon will be moderating a Q&A session after the screening, with Dennis Smith (Go’s Associate Producer), Peter Robinson, bass-player of the show’s house band The Strangers; Tony Barber, original rhythm guitarist with Billy Thorpe and The Aztecs; and performer Marcie Jones from Marcie & the Cookies.


How cute were Marcie & the Cookies?
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Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Then and now: Fashion Street

So much for that saying, ‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’ 
Looking at the photos below, I’d say that while things have changed a lot, very little (besides the location) has stayed the same.

Check out 262-270 Collins Street as it looked in 1969, when Angus O’Callaghan took this photo and called it ‘Fashion Street’.
'Fashion Street'. Photo by Angus O'Callaghan.
I love how his photos are often cropped square. He'd be a hit on Instagram.

Now check out how it looked the other week when I took a photo during my lunch break and called it ‘Non-descript city scene’… Not a groovy old car or chic pill-box hat in sight.
'Non-descript city scene'. Photo by Yours Truly. 

The glory days

A 12-story modernist gem, the Hotel Australia opened in 1939. Beneath nine floors of lavishly appointed bedrooms, there were three levels of public space, including the Venetian Court Ballroom, the Main Dining Room, several bars, restaurants and even two basement cinemas.
Hotel Australia dining room. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969. Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3309841)
The hotel was a hit with Melbourne society from the get-go. The Packer family kept a suite there for 25 years; Robert Menzies dined there so often they named an omelette after him; and Harold and Zara Holt held their wedding reception there (as did my colleague Norm, who’s featured in this blog before).

Attached to the hotel was a shopping arcade which led through to Little Collins Street. Thousands of pedestrians passed through on a daily basis; many of them commuters who’d stop at one of the hotel’s bars for an after-work bevvy on their way home.
One of the hotel bars. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969. Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3309872)
Yet rather like another well-known Melbourne grand-dame, Dame Edna Everage, the Hotel Australia’s glitz’n’glam was shot through with a distinctly risqué vibe. Almost from the day it opened, the hotel was popular with the city’s gay population, and during World War II, it was the hang-out for frisky servicemen on the prowl. The cocktail bar and one of the basement theatrettes were acknowledged pick-up joints. 

According to one website I came across, the hotel was even offering a call-girl service by the 1960s. Camp romance and girls for hire: that’s what I call covering all bases! 
Centreway Arcade on the other side of the street: Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1967
Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3314126)
Sadly, when the famous Southern Cross Hotel opened in 1962, it stole much of Hotel Australia’s thunder, soon becoming the new in-crowd favourite. Neither hotel survived into this century. The Hotel Australia was demolished in 1989 (ten years before the Southern Cross) to make way for the shiny new Australia on Collins shopping arcade. 

Now Australia on Collins has been demolished to make way for ‘luxury shopping precinct’ St Collins Lane. The more things change, the more they stay the same? Hmmm. Maybe there is something in that after all...


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Saturday, April 18, 2015

Carry On Touring: when The Who and The Small Faces hit town


The Who and The Small Faces on the same bill: it’s almost too monumental a concept for my brain to process. And in 1968, no less! A pretty exciting year for both bands, now past their mod heyday and on the verge of mind-bending new musical explorations, such as Tommy (still taking shape in Pete Townshend’s fevered brain at that point) and Ogdens’ Nutgone Flake.

How could such a line-up go wrong? Well, by all accounts, it could — and did — when both groups headed Down Under for a ‘Big Show’ tour of Australia and New Zealand along with Paul Jones (ex-Manfred Mann). Having recently read A Fortnight of Furore, a book by Andrew Neill about this infamous tour, I was surprised to learn what a complete and utter schmozzle it was. 

It seems Australia just wasn’t ready for The Who and The Small Faces: our media and police treated them as a threat to public decency rather than visiting artists, and our venues were woefully under-equipped for their rock’n’roll onslaught. Throw in a highly strung air-hostess with an axe to grind, and it’s no wonder Pete Townshend vowed never to return.

The build-up

By the time the Big Show rolled into Melbourne after legs in Brisbane and Sydney, the madness was well entrenched. The local gutter press had been in attack mode from the moment the bands touched down on Aussie soil, accusing them of being dirty drug-taking Poms here to corrupt the nation’s teenagers and panning the concerts with great relish. 

Among other things, The Who and The Small Faces were dubbed ‘pouting princes of popdom,’ ‘scruffy, guitar-twanging urchins,’ and ‘pop show louts’. Some journalistic bright spark even nicknamed The Small Faces ‘The Small Faeces’! Strangely enough, neither band responded well to this kind of treatment, and press conferences tended to be fraught affairs. (The more wholesome Paul Jones didn’t seem to evoke such an extreme reaction)
Page from tour program
And another page from tour program


Tour program again: yep, you could take this one home to meet your gran
Then there were the technical malfunctions. In Brisbane, The Who requested a 1000-watt sound system and received a 100-watt system; in Sydney, the rotating stage got stuck mid-concert and The Small Faces (who made no attempts to hide their irritation) were pelted with coins by disgruntled punters. What’s more, Pete Townshend managed to spear one of The Small Faces’ Marshall amps with his guitar in Sydney, damaging a speaker and causing temporary friction between the two bands.

Add to this a taste for hotel hell-raising that – surprise, surprise – usually involved Keith Moon, and the scene was set for the Melbourne leg of the tour to be every bit as controversial as what had come before. And so it was, starting with Pete Townshend punching out an obnoxious journalist at their airport press conference, and Keith Moon chucking a snare drum through the window of his room at the Southern Cross Hotel soon after arriving!

From the tour program: check out this jaw-droppingly dorky ad for the Southern Cross Hotel!!

The concerts

Compered by legendary radio DJ Stan Rofe, the Melbourne concerts took place at Festival Hall on Thursday 25 and Friday 26 January, with performances at 6pm and 8.45pm both nights. As well as Sydney band The Questions (who’d been on the bill from the beginning, in their own right and as backing band to Paul Jones), local act The Dream joined proceedings, having beat out the cream of Melbourne’s rock bands in a ten-pin bowling tournament for the honour. From all accounts, they didn’t set the world on fire. 
Stan Rofe, sometimes known as the 'rocky jockey'

In fact, if you believe the reviews, the whole shebang was a bit… umm… forgettable. In a review entitled ‘Desecration in my generation’, one journo described The Who’s equipment-smashing finale as ‘oh, so predictable and really so dull’, and the evening as ‘boring, amateurish and altogether wasted.’ His waspish conclusion? ‘Britain has more than economic problems’.

Even Rofe, usually a passionate supporter of young bands, wrote in Go-Set that the audiences were ‘unenthusiastic’ and went so far as to suggest that The Small Faces were a fraud. ‘Tunes like “Itchycoo Park” and “Tin Soldier” bore little resemblance to the real thing. So different did they sound, it made me believe that a bunch of studio musicians were used on their records’. Meanwhile, The Who’s destructo antics left him ‘with a feeling of nausea, if not sudden longing for the smallest room in the stadium.’ Ouch.


But reports from fans themselves paint a far different picture. On an odd, unofficial Who website I stumbled across while researching this post, a certain John Moon (yes) recalls being an impressionable 14-year-old at his first ever concert: “Fuck…what an introduction … I remember seeing a row of MARSHALL stacks (I think there were 4 of these (at the time) giants across the stage...could have been 6) on stage and for those days it looked quite awesome...”

While Moon says The Small Faces were “great” and played all their hits, he saves his most lavish praise for The Who…

“Finally on came THE WHO.....they were absolutely AWESOME!!!! The birdman was doing his windmills, Daltrey was swinging his mic, Moon was just goin' for it on the kit and John Entwistle was a rock of Gibraltar holdin’ it all together. 
“Townshend was playing a blue Fender Stratocaster with a white scratch plate and during SHAKIN' ALL OVER the guitar neck snapped off midway thru the song and he just threw it across the floor backstage and was given STEVE MARRIOTT'S black Les Paul to play. When the song finished, Townshend explained to the audience that his roadies loosen the bolts at the back of the neck/guitar body join so he won’t hurt his hands when he smashes it at the end of the show. The crowd were calling out to him to smash the Les Paul but he said he couldn’t cos it was Steve Marriott's guitar. The road crew then came back with his Strat bolted back together again. 
“Finally at the end of the show all hell broke loose on stage, the amps had smoke rising out of the top of the boxes and thinking of it now, it was obviously some special effect that was planned to go off cos the smoke was uniform from all amps and they all ‘smoked’ at precisely the same time....but it was very effective, no one had ever seen anything like this before.”
Another punter, Ian Clothier, adds that "‘awesome’ just doesn't seem enough to describe the effect this show had on us teenagers.” Apparently, one of his mates managed to nab a piece of Stratocaster scrap that flew into the audience when Pete smashed it, only to have it confiscated by a bouncer on the way out! The roadies would later rebuild the guitar as best they could, as the mounting costs of equipment damaged by The Who were getting out of hand.
Who was who (no pun intended) behind the scenes of The Big Show
Best tour poster ever! Designed by Go-Set's own Ian McCausland

High-altitude hi-jinx

Next stop was Adelaide, scene of the tour’s final Australian concert (on Saturday 27th January) before heading to New Zealand. As far as they were all concerned, Melbourne was behind them.

Despite knowing that their flight out of Adelaide departed early the next morning, the bands partied typically hard in their hotel that night, and were feeling a tad worse for wear when they boarded their Ansett plane at 7am. The tone was set when none of them returned the air hostesses’ cheery greetings upon entering the aircraft (with the exception of the ever-perky Paul Jones); and got steadily worse when the hosties blatantly overlooked them while serving tea and coffee to other passengers.

An ad for Ansett from the tour program. Let's hope Susan Jones wasn't the air hostess behind the dramas...
What happened next remains unclear, with conflicting accounts of the incident depending on who’s telling it. Tour manager Ron Blackmore; Production Manager for The Who, John “Wiggy” Wolff; Doug Parkinson (singer of The Questions), and Paul Jones all recall it slightly differently in A Fortnight of Furore. The general consensus seems to be that the grumpy, bedraggled and unwashed touring party offended the delicate sensibilities of one of the air hostesses, who not only refused to serve them, but gave them a right old ear-bashing before dragging the captain into it. The fact that members of The Questions were passing around a stubbie of beer they’d smuggled on board didn’t exactly help matters either.

The captain radioed ahead to Essendon Airport, where the bands and their entourage were informed they were under arrest and escorted to a VIP lounge by a posse of federal police to be interviewed.


 Slap-stick gold or what? Ronnie Lane recalled, “When we landed, there were all these police and television cameras there, and we were carted off. The television cameras were on the plane, so I said to everyone, ‘Go out with your hands on your head, and it’ll look like the plane was hijacked, it’ll look really good on TV,’ so we did!”

Kenney Jones adds: “They lined us all up on the tarmac, with our hands on our heads, and we’re saying ‘You can’t do this, we’re British!’ It was hilarious.”


Hello again, Melbourne!
Needless to say, the local media went into a feeding frenzy. So what if nobody (including those directly involved) knew exactly why the arrest had been made? These creative journos weren’t about to let facts get in the way of a good story. Reports of foul language, bare-arsed shenanigans, violence and public drunkenness were thrown about with merry abandon until a press conference was finally held, with Paul Jones acting as spokesperson. While he couldn’t shed much light on the situation, he confessed that beer was involved, as well as some colourful language — but “only the same bad language as you’ll find in practically any conversation.”

Eventually, after Big Show promoter Kenn Brodziak (who was spending a leisurely Sunday arvo at his mum’s house) was enlisted to pull some strings with airline owner Reg Ansett, the touring party was released without charge to catch a connecting flight to Sydney and from there on to Auckland.



No love lost

Interviewed about the incident in New Zealand, Pete Townshend explained as only he could:
“I don’t think the hostess fancied us much – she obviously didn’t like our long hair and appearance… when she saw the [beer] bottle, she refused to serve us coffee. The crew acted as if we were not there. We were victims. The crew set out to humiliate us and they succeeded. They ignored us as if there was something wrong with us. After all, we are young public figures and expect a bit of attention.”
But even after the tour was over and the bands were safely back in Blighty, Australia wasn't about to let matters drop. On February 17, 1968, a letter from Go-Set reporter Ed Nimmervoll was published in English magazine Melody Maker claiming the Small Faces’ shows were “disinterested” and “the Who’s much-vaunted stage act wasn’t much better.” (Before signing off, he helpfully suggested that these “British artists should have realised their vulnerability to knockers and with a little thought … steered clear of trouble. Just how masochistic is British pop?”)

Meanwhile, Victorian Premier Henry Bolte called them “a bunch of crummy hooligans” who fell far short of the “magnificent example” set by Australian folkies The Seekers.


Not a fan: Prime Minister John Gorton
But the cherry on top came courtesy of then-Aussie PM John Gorton, in the form of a telegram he sent to The Who. Wiggy Wolff recalls it as being along the lines of “Dear Who’s [sic]. We never wanted you to come to Australia. You have behaved atrociously while you’ve been here and we hope you never come back!”

Naturally, Pete Townshend shot off a reply, saying they’d never wanted to come to Australia, they’d had a terrible time here, and they would not be coming back.

As we all know, he kept his promise for a very long time…